


don't wait for the sky to clear

by whatlighttasteslike (waitingforeleven)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 19th Century, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, F/M, Letters, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 03:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18682852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingforeleven/pseuds/whatlighttasteslike
Summary: After a chance meeting at a ball, Jemma can’t help but picture the rest of her life at Fitz’s side. But after a letter to him goes unanswered, Jemma doesn’t know what to do: confront the man she loves or let her hopes for their future get washed away with the rain.FitzSimmons Appreciation Week - Day 5: AU of your choiceWritten for the anon that requested FS + Did you get my letter?





	don't wait for the sky to clear

**Author's Note:**

> FitzSimmons Appreciation Week - Day 5: AU of your choice
> 
> Written for the anon that requested FS + Did you get my letter?

The rain that rudely interrupted their quiet walk seemed to put a burden on Fitz’s mood, but the way the water drenched through his shirt, highlighting his arm and shoulder muscles much more than usual, brought a flush to Jemma’s cheeks. As he grumbled after hastily removing his overcoat, hanging it over Jemma’s head to shield her from the downpour as much as possible, she stifled a small giggle at their luck.

“I’ll have someone fetch you something dry to wear,” he near shouted in her ear. “The last thing you need is to grow ill when you’ve only just arrived.”

“I think my parents would find it rather amusing,” Jemma teased. “Ten minutes with you and I’m already faint.”

Fitz glanced at her for a brief moment, and Jemma instantly noticed a shift in his expression, her face falling as she realized what she just said.

It was a shame, really. Every time they were granted a moment alone with one another, some circumstance or force of the universe got in the way, and today seemed to be no exception.

On the evening of their first meeting what felt like ages ago, he found her in the library of the estate hosting an extravagant winter ball, the quiet sanctuary a sweet escape from the endless commotion of dancing and drunken chatter. It was an opportunity for eligible daughters to find themselves wealthy husbands, but Jemma was far more interested in the host’s impressive collection of reading material rather than finding a dance partner. Fitz had been in search of a temporary hiding spot after his last partner nearly fractured his toe when he stumbled upon the library to find Jemma deep in thought, her nose buried in the pages of a French publication. When he opened the heavy door, she jumped, slamming the book shut and rising from her chair.

“My apologies,” he told her straightaway, bowing his head before turning to leave.

“Please, sir,” she insisted. “You’re welcome to browse. I was simply getting some air.”

He paused, taking her in for a moment, and Jemma nearly forgot to breathe. He was a bit short compared to the other gentlemen present that evening at the ball, but he had much kinder eyes and softer features than anyone she had encountered, which left her intrigued to know more about him. He also wasn’t sizing her up like some of the other gentlemen had when she first arrived, the pressure to appear as the most appealing partner sending her into a state of unease. Instead, he looked on her with a genuine interest rather than simply a prize to be won.

“Sort of an odd place to get some air. It appears they missed this room during preparations for the evening,” he said, sweeping his finger across the particularly dusty spine of a book, “but they likely didn’t think anyone would seek out the library during such an occasion.”

“I don’t mind it,” she admitted with a small smile. “And out of all the places, you also appeared here.”

“Right, I… I don’t do well in crowds of this sort,” he said, gesturing behind him. “Sometimes it’s best to step away for a moment.”

“I agree.”

“Sorry, how rude of me,” he said, striding forward. “I don’t believe we were introduced before. I’m Leopold Fitz.”

“Jemma Simmons,” she said, bowing. “Chances are you encountered my mother and my younger sisters. They are much fonder of balls than I, dancing especially. They’re difficult to miss.”

“Ah, yes. It’s quite likely I spotted them during a number or two. Probably dancing with Mr. Ward or Mr. Campbell, I suspect, as they certainly seem to be… popular.” There was a slight bitterness in his tone when he said the first gentleman’s name, which Jemma found a bit amusing coming from someone who appeared so kind. She didn’t press.

“Do you… dance, Miss Simmons?” he asked almost hesitantly.

“Only occasionally. My mother would be appalled to come all this way and then find her eldest daughter wasting her time away by hiding in the dark.”

“Well, you’re talking to me,” he pointed out. “I… I hope you wouldn’t consider it entirely a waste of your time.”

“Oh, of course not,” she replied earnestly. Even if he’d interrupted her time to herself, he was already proving himself to be much more fascinating and mysterious than any publication she would have discovered in the room.

They were silent for a bit as his gaze shifted over the many titles making up the vast collection, taking one out here and there only to return it to its rightful place.

“If you don’t enjoy dancing,” he said after a moment, turning back to her, “how do you prefer to spend your time?”

She glanced down to the volume still clutched in her hands. “Reading, naturally. Of any subject, really. I also enjoy languages and a bit of music, but I would never consider myself a stellar singer.”

At this, he let out a single laugh. “I’m sure you sell yourself short.”

“No, not really,” she said through a laugh of her own, feeling her cheeks grow warm with blush. “What about you? How do you spend your time, Mr. Fitz?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then he looked to her with more openness in his eyes. “Drawing, actually. But my father thinks little of what I do for leisure. He’d rather I spent my days in town, but unfortunately, I often freeze up in those conversations amongst gentlemen.” He shrugged, and Jemma found his expression of distaste at the subject utterly charming. “I find we never have much in common, and to be frank, they’re all a bit boring.”

Jemma nodded through the smile blooming on her face, understanding his words completely. She never truly enjoyed partaking in conversation between other ladies of her age either, often feeling unable to relate to their excited chatter over the handsome and single gentlemen in town, ribbons, or other subjects she thought less than stimulating.

When he didn’t elaborate more, she found herself suddenly saying, “I like to think our parents simply want what’s best for us. In their own way. Even if they could never understand us completely.” She almost brought her hand up to her lips, unaware of where the words or the courage to utter them aloud came from, but she kept it at her side, hopeful he wouldn’t take offense to her speaking so freely.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind, his expression even perking up at her comment. “Yes, exactly,” he replied, moving to her side. “Well, not my father, unfortunately. He cares of nothing but himself. But I feel that way about my mother, at least.”

From his response, Jemma understood there was likely something beyond his simple words of his father, but she didn’t want to pry. So instead, she simply gave him a faint smile.

“Do you often feel this way, Miss Simmons?”

“Hmm?” she said in surprise.

“Misunderstood?”

As he looked to her with such hope in his eyes, she found herself lost for words. Here was a man, the only man who had ever given her this much genuine attention, and he seemed to be bearing his entire soul to her upon only knowing her for a few short minutes. If she didn’t feel such a strong and foreign connection to him, a feeling she could not explain in that moment, she would have shut down and kept her responses simple. But his openness seemed to spark an openness in her as well.

When she finally found herself again, she offered him a little shrug. “I don’t know. I believe it rare to discover someone so similar to yourself. It’s a gift when one comes across such a person.”

“Right.” Her answer seemed to send him deep in thought, and Jemma yearned to know what was going on inside that curious head of his. “I…” he started, but then he held his tongue.

“Yes?” she urged.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I–I simply wanted to ask—"

His sentence was cut short when Jemma’s mother came barging into the room, the remains of her drink splashing over the rim of the crystal glass as she giggled against her gloved hand.

“Ah, Jemma, _there_ you are— oh, pardon me!” she said, astonished as she caught sight of the gentleman in the room standing rather close to her daughter. She straightened herself and bowed, her tone filling with much more reverence. “My word. Mr. Fitz, it is _such_ a pleasure to be in your company this evening. My girls have expressed that you are a splendid partner.”

He lowered his eyes, a slight blush reddening his cheeks. “They are too polite, Mrs. Simmons. I find I’m fairly lost in that arena. Much prefer the quieter pastimes.” Stealing a glance in Jemma’s direction, the corner of his mouth curved into a half smile. “Reading, particularly.”

Jemma hastily hid the book between the folds of her skirt, knowing her mother would disapprove.

“Are you staying long in the country?” Mrs. Simmons asked eagerly.

“A month, I believe,” he answered. “My aunt and uncle have been most generous in accommodating me in their home.”

“You should come ‘round to dine with us. My husband would love to hear about your father’s estate. And I’m sure my daughters would enjoy your company immensely.”

“Yes, thank you. That would be wonderful.” As if he could sense her mother waiting to pounce, he cleared his throat. “Well, it is getting late, so I should probably be going, I think.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Simmons.

Jemma looked down to try and hide the pure delight spreading across her face at the prospect of having such an interesting and rather handsome young gentleman dining with her family in the future. Before he left, he turned to Jemma, a soft smile on his face as he looked at her hand still clutching the book.  

“I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Simmons.”

She looked up, finding his eyes at last. “And I you, Mr. Fitz.”

And just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

It wasn’t until he was out of sight that Jemma learned of his identity from her mother—the conveniently single and wealthy heir to his father’s grand Scottish estate—but that didn’t change her feelings about him in the slightest. From just their brief moment alone, she felt she’d met someone who genuinely wanted to know her in every possible way. And for once, she didn’t feel like she needed to present a reserved and agreeable version of herself to find a match.

What followed their chance encounter and his promised visit to her home to dine with her family were a blissful few weeks together, weeks Jemma could only remember as the most joyous in her entire life. After their first few outings, walking and chatting freely about their discovered shared interests, he instructed her to simply call him Fitz, which she followed only after he corrected her half a dozen times. His aunt and uncle lived relatively close to Jemma’s family cottage, so he often spent his afternoons with Jemma before he dined out with them and other parties, arrangements his father had set up for him, much to his annoyance. But every other spare moment, he saved for Jemma alone.

Unfortunately, their time was cut short when Fitz regretfully had to return home early, the severe illness of his father forcing him to rush back to his estate. A brutal man, Fitz seemed to dread having to make the proper arrangements for when his father likely passed, but Jemma knew he would never let his mother go through such an event alone.

With her feelings for him now consuming every ounce of her being, Jemma wrote to him, words filling countless pages of a letter in what she hoped would provide him some comfort during such a stressful stage of his life, along with some other daring lines that she never found the courage to tell him in person.

And then a few weeks away without a word from him turned into months, and sadly, he never returned to Jemma’s small family cottage.

Without any response from him, Jemma’s mother boldly told her that he’d probably already found himself a wife since his departure. Since his father’s death, which they learned of a few weeks later, he now owned the entire estate—worth more money than Jemma could even imagine—so he was suddenly the most sought-after man by every eligible woman in England. Jemma’s father, as painful as it was, urged her to move on and look elsewhere for a husband. He’d always hoped she would be able to marry for love, but with little to provide for her, he knew her chances were running thin.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” he’d said to her when she finally came to terms with reality. “He would have been lucky to have you.”

Through Fitz’s absence and silence, Jemma thought long and hard about their relationship, often rethinking it altogether. He’d never been completely forward about his feelings in person, though neither had she, as it wasn’t her place. He was the one with a generous income thanks to his father. And he was the one that would ultimately choose his wife—most likely a woman of similar status, which Jemma was far from. But he didn’t have to stay as long as he had during his last visit. And he didn’t have to spend nearly every moment of his free time at her side.

And yet, he never answered her letter.

His silence drained the last of her hope, so when he _did_ finally send for her, Jemma was surprised beyond belief. The invitation arrived on a rather dreary afternoon, and when her younger sister waved it in front of her face, Jemma instantly recognized the script. He didn’t state why he wanted her to travel to his estate, knowing it was probably just a causal visit and nothing more. But she didn’t dwell on his reasons as she missed his company terribly.

Now, as their relaxing walk around his estate’s extravagant garden took a turn for the worst due to their lack of control over Mother Nature, Jemma couldn’t help but laugh, the raindrops cool against her skin as they trailed down her face.

“Let’s hurry back,” Fitz told her as he continued to awkwardly shield her from the sudden weather. “We’ll have tea in the drawing room.”

“It’s fine, Fitz. We don’t need to rush,” she assured him, lowering his arm with her hand. “What’s a bit a rain really going to do?”

“Right, well, it simply feels as if the world is always conspiring against us. Can we never find a moment of peace?”

“Apparently not,” she said solemnly, hanging her head slightly as she walked.

He glanced her way at that moment and then slowed his struggle up the hill, turning to walk backwards to see her face properly. “What is it? Pardon me, but you seem… distant.”

Exhaling deeply, she put on a brave face and looked up. “It’s nothing.”

Tilting his head, he gave her a knowing look. “No, it’s not.”

On any other occasion, she would have let the matter rest. The entire situation had caused her enough pain already, so to have to relive it all again was the last thing she wanted. But with his eyes burning into hers in such a way, she was unable to hold in her relentless feelings any longer.

“Did you receive my letter?” she blurted out, surprising herself by the sheer force behind her words.  

His face grew serious for a moment as he took in her words, and then recognition seemed to strike him as he nodded his head. “Yes, I did.” he responded. “You were generous with your words. My mother, as always, greatly appreciated your kindness. I pray she didn’t mistakenly forget to respond. The letters were plentiful, as you’d imagine.”

As he continued up the path, walking forward again as he paid particular attention to avoid some of the deeper mud puddles along the way, Jemma stopped in her tracks. That letter—the one she sent and signed from her entire family after finally hearing of his father’s passing—was _not_ the letter she was referring to. Of course, she’d poured just as much heart into those words, knowing how awful a marriage it was between his parents and how the gentleman’s death would bring Fitz’s mother some much needed peace. But the letter she wrote _before_ that, the one where she poured her entire soul into the words that she wrote the moment after his departure to tend to his father’s weakening condition, watching him leave in the dead of night and finding herself unable to move from her window through her heartache. That letter was of an entirely different sort.

It took great care to express her love through words alone, and to do so under the circumstances—of never knowing when or if he would even return, of knowing it truly wasn’t her choice to make. With his silence, Jemma thought she understood his response, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to know how he felt now. Unless, of course, he’d never even read the letter in the first place.

“No,” she finally said, a hand resting on her abdomen through her surprise. “I wasn’t referring to the letter I sent to your mother.”

He turned to her then, his forehead creasing through his confusion.

“I sent one before that,” she explained. “Addressed to you alone.” To Jemma’s relief, the rain began to ease up, so she no longer needed to shout to be heard.

At her words, Fitz stood with his mouth agape, his eyes searching hers for something she did not know. “I never saw such a letter,” he admitted.

Jemma’s eyes widened, her heart racing in her chest. “You didn’t?”

“No, I only received the one.”

“Oh,” she said softly, her hand slightly trembling from either the chill in the air or the nervous energy now radiating through her. “Right, then.” Picking up her skirts, she walked with more purpose towards the house, at a loss for what to do in her newfound circumstances.

“Wait, Jemma – what letter?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said firmly, swallowing hard to hide any pain in her voice. “Maybe it got lost, but for whatever reason, you never read it. Please, let’s continue on inside for tea.”

“Jemma,  _wait_ ,” he pleaded, finally catching up to her. She reluctantly slowed to a stop, and as he caught his breath, he met her eyes, growing concern in his gaze. “What did it say?”

Licking her lips, she glanced off into the distance, her eyes growing misty. _I can’t imagine my life without you in it._ “I don’t remember,” she told him instead, not meeting his eyes. “It was so long ago.”

He stepped forward, searching her eyes. “It wasn’t that long.” When she stayed silent, he shook his head. “Wait, when did you send it?”

“Hours after you left,” she confessed.  

“So, it would have arrived before he...”

Gravely, she nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

Jemma glanced down to hide the sudden tears filling her eyes, only to see Fitz forming a fist at his side and slowly releasing it.

“He took it,” he said through gritted teeth.

She looked up, finding a stern expression on his face. “Pardon?”

“He passed soon after, but the man was so particular about our letters, so… _controlling_ even on his death bed.”

She still didn’t catch on to what he was saying, so she stepped forward, wanting desperately to reach out to him, but she kept her hands at her sides. “Fitz?”

“He kept it from me. He kept _you_ from me, he…”

As he closed his eyes and shook his head bitterly, Jemma’s breath caught in her throat, and just as she began to process his meaning, he looked towards the house.

“I’ll just have to find it, then,” he said quickly before turning and rushing off.

“Wait, Fitz!”

“Come along!”

“Fitz!”

Despite her calls, he wouldn’t slow, forcing her to match his pace. Taking two steps at a time until he reached the top of the stairs leading up to the estate, he ushered her inside, being watchful to make sure she didn’t slip on the now completely drenched hem of her skirt.

Once they were safely indoors, he waved over one of his servants. “Louise, please find something dry for her to wear. And we’ll have tea in the drawing room.”

“Yes, Mr. Fitz.”

Before Jemma could utter a word of protest, he was out of sight, so she reluctantly followed the woman down the hall, her thoughts racing with newfound hope.

~

Dry at last, the dress she now wore simple but much more luxurious than anything she owned herself, Jemma paced back and forth while she waited for Fitz’s arrival. Even if he didn’t find the letter hidden away somewhere in his father’s things, she knew he wouldn’t allow her to simply drop the matter without an explanation. Having known the words of the letter by heart, she’d recited them in her head the first few nights after she’d sent it, laying on her pillow as she longed for his answer. Maybe if she could garner enough courage, she could recite them to him in person if that’s what he wished. During their time together, they tried to not hide anything from each other, with an obvious exception on Jemma’s part. So she knew she would never be able to keep something so significant from him after all this time.

But she didn’t have to. 

He was already in the drawing room before she could even register the sound of his footsteps. Whipping around, she found him more disheveled than before, a few buttons of his shirt undone and the rain bringing out his curls. And in his hand was what looked to be her letter. It was terribly crumbled, and she could see streaks running down the page, but even from afar, she knew in her heart that it was her writing.

His eyes were red, and after letting out a shuddering breath, bringing the letter close to his chest, he gave her a sad smile. “Jemma, if I had known…”

“Fitz,” she cut in, shaking her head as she clutched her hands in front of her, her fears still permeating through her chest, “you…you don’t have to say anything.”

At this, he simply sighed. “I would have brought you here sooner.”

“So, why didn’t you?” she asked instantly, unable to stop the words from tumbling quickly off her tongue. 

With his eyes never leaving hers, he walked slowly towards her, seeming to hold onto the letter for dear life. Once there was only a small space between them, Jemma now able to see clearly how his eyes were welling up, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Fitz,” she said softly. “Why did you bring me here?”

Pulling in his lips, he stayed silent for a few seconds before exhaling deeply. “Because I _missed_ you,” he confessed with passion. “And I…” He paused, and Jemma could feel the flutters in her stomach through the anticipation of his next words.

And then with a slight waver in his voice, he said, “I couldn’t give up hope on this. On us.”

Jemma took in a sharp breath, feeling a bit unsteady on her feet and unable to muster a single word.

“When I didn’t hear from you after your letter of sympathy,” he continued, “I thought you didn’t want to hear from me. I thought…I thought I’d missed my chance. I was afraid that this wasn’t what you wanted, and I didn’t want to pressure you into something you didn’t truly desire.”

She nodded in understanding, moving so close to him that she could almost feel the breath escaping his lungs.   

“I left you waiting for so long, I feel terrible, I—”

“ _Fitz_.”

He froze at her word, and before she could rethink her actions, she gently placed her hand on top of his where it held her letter. He seemed to struggle to breathe as he looked to where their skin finally touched, so she squeezed his hand, urging him to meet her eyes. When he eventually did, she couldn’t help the joyous smile that spread across her face.

“I have never felt so understood by another person,” she said, emphasizing each word with every ounce of affection that existed within her.

His eyes grew more tender, his smile now matching her own.  

“And I like to think…” she went on, suppressing a nervous laugh as she let herself express her feelings openly for the first time, “I like to think that our lives would be much brighter if we shared each other’s company for the rest of our days.”

Gazing on her with utter adoration, he chuckled.

“I feel the same way,” he said at last.

Not a second later, his lips were on hers, the letter slipping from his fingers and cascading like a feather down towards the floor as his hands came to cradle her face so gingerly as if she might break. Jemma, completely lost in the feeling as months’ worth of suppressed emotions suddenly came flooding to the surface, brought her hands up to rest on his shoulders to steady herself before moving them to his jaw, the slight stubble a welcome feeling against her fingertips. He’d always been clean shaven and completely put together during his visit to the country, so to see him, to _feel_ him, in this way—unbound and effortlessly himself—was a pleasure beyond belief. Their kiss was brief, a mere introduction to what she hoped would be an endless discovery of each other’s souls from that moment on, but Fitz didn’t fully pull away once their lips parted, resting his forehead against hers as he held her close.

“So,” he whispered, “were you thinking yearly visits?”

Jemma let out an infectious laugh, her cheeks beginning to ache from her smile.

“Or monthly?” he teased. “Weekly may be a bit extravagant.”

“ _No_ ,” she said firmly. “No visits because  _visiting_ implies eventually having to leave.”

“And we don’t want that, now, do we?”

She shook her head, another giggle escaping her mouth.

“But first,” he said, “I believe a different sort of visit is in order.”

It only took a moment for Jemma to understand his meaning, and with a new wave of warmth passing through her heart, she imagined the look on her father’s face when she shared her wonderful news. “Of course,” she replied. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to speak with you.”

“As long as you are one hundred percent certain this is what you want,” he pressed once more, the smile radiating up to his eyes telling her he already knew her answer.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Absolutely.”

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, she kissed him again, winding her arms around his neck as he lifted her up off the floor. As if the kiss wasn’t enough to take her breath away, the feeling of him holding her in his arms left her spinning, along with the knowledge that they would continue to lift each other up in every way imaginable.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr at [jemmafitzsimmons](http://jemmafitzsimmons.tumblr.com)!


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